Forelsket
by gentlewinnix
Summary: Sam Loudermilk meets Charlie Crews at a cafe by chance one day. It turns into more quickly, and Sam feels more than he had ever expected to again in his life. Charlie/Sam.


**Author's Note: **Thanks to trailsofpaper for the plot help!

**Forelsket** _n._ Danish - the euphoria of falling in love.

Tags include: Meet-Cute, Dating, Catharsis, Domestic Fluff, Old Men In Love.

* * *

Sam Loudermilk ducks into a tiny café with curses alight upon his lips. It'd been moderately warm and sunny out all day, but of course once he was four blocks from home, dark clouds had suddenly snuffed out the light and rain started coming down in angry torrents. Now, at least, he's safely indoors, but he's drenched and quite pissed off.

The universe hates him, he knows this already. But it doesn't make it any less frustrating.

Once he's counted down from 10 and taken a deep breath he moves to place an order. The rain clearly isn't about to let up anytime soon and he'd been a bit hungry anyway. He knows this café quite well, but there are a few new people today. The cashier- one of those new people- looks a bit panicked, so Sam puts on his nicest smile and places his order as politely as he can. (He's not a complete asshole, after all.) As he's glancing around the place he spots another new person, a lanky ginger man sitting in the back corner with a coffee, sandwich, and fruit salad. He's not eating, though- he's gazing out the window with a frown, hands idle on the table. Sam is intrigued.

Feeling inexplicably sociable, Sam collects his own meal and approaches the man. "You're new here," he greets, "mind some company?"

The man blinks and looks up at him, and Sam realizes he knows him.

"You're Charlie Crews," he says, and the man smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes, though, the clear blue gaze intense on Sam's face. Given the man's history, Sam isn't surprised at the non-reaction.

"I don't mind company," Charlie demurs after an awkward moment of silence, and Sam takes that as an invitation. He sets his plate and mug down with a clatter and takes a seat.

"I'm Sam Loudermilk," Sam greets, slanting Charlie a smile. "Friendly neighborhood asshole. What brings you to Seattle? Aren't you from LA?"

"Yep," says Charlie. "LA, born and raised. Came up here to clear my head for a bit, see the sights. I'm on leave."

Sam smiles knowingly. It had been all over the news- if it could be called that; he thought of the stories more like those found in scandal rags- Charlie Crews, exonerated eleven years ago after spending twelve years in Crescent City, a ridiculously large settlement in his pocket and a place saved for him back on the force. A mansion in the mountains. They still wonder at his reasons for going back to police work, and Sam had not find himself exempt from curiosity. But in his experience as an addiction counselor, he knows when not to push. Charlie would talk about it if he wanted to.

"Leave?" Sam asks. "You fuck up something?"

"Not this time," says Charlie with a smile.

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Mhmm," he says. "I did some fucking up myself, recently. Lost my best friend, and a neighbor I was interested in. Wasn't all my fault, though. Just people being people. That's what I'm told."

"People being people," Charlie parrots. He picks up his sandwich, having finished his fruit through the conversation, and takes a hearty bite.

Sam and Charlie trade numbers at the end of their meal, Sam swaying him to do so with the reasoning of "no better tour guide than a local," and by then the rain has stopped and he can complete his trip to the post office.

Charlie has a car- a Maserati, a sleek black thing outfitted with police lights- and Sam wishes not for the first time that his license wasn't permanently suspended. He watches the detective drive away and wonders at the quiet emptiness he feels in his chest.

* * *

Charlie texts Sam as he's heading to bed that night.

At home, Claire has moved from the couch to Ben's now-empty room; only the furniture had been left behind. Ben lives with Memphis, in New Orleans, and Sam's stomach sours whenever he thinks about it. Claire has a job now, and she helps pay rent, so at least Sam isn't struggling to cover it on his own. They'd come to respect each other in light of everything, and his only qualm with her is the snoring. There are three walls between his room and hers now, rather than just one, so it's marginally better.

Allison is gone, moved across town next to Carl. They'd fucked on her couch, and then she told him _"This was a mistake," _and expressed her concern for becoming another crutch for him, said he should work on himself, because she can't help him the way he needs to be helped. He thought it was a lot of bullshit then, but upon reflection he realizes she was probably right.

But Charlie- well. The detective had piqued Sam's curiosity, and his text comes as a pleasant surprise. He'd only half-expected the man to reach out again, having figured he has his own life, his own friends. He's certainly far more charismatic and friendly than Sam. But, the message suggests that Charlie is, at the very least, interested in seeing him again.

_What places do you recommend on a Friday afternoon? _Charlie's message says.

Sam smiles.

* * *

Charlie pulls up at Ashnola Apartments at 2pm on the dot, and Sam chuckles. Claire had leered at him when he said he was going out, but he doesn't care what she thinks of it. He's fifty years old and he's been single for a whole five years, he's allowed to go on dates if he wants. He climbs in Charlie's Maserati, feeling awkward and shy, and he curses the flush on his cheeks when he smiles at Charlie - who, of course, looks cool and unperturbed. He probably isn't even thinking of this as a date, Sam admonishes to himself.

"Hi," Sam says, fumbling with the seatbelt. "How's your day been?"

"Good," says Charlie, turning into traffic. "Ted- my roommate- called. I had lunch at a place called Marty's. It was nice."

"Last time I was there I saved a guy who was choking. He sued me."

Charlie glances at Sam, amused. "Why did he sue you?"

"I guess I fractured a couple of his ribs when I gave him the Heimlich." Sam shakes his head. "I'd think I'd have felt that. But I paid his bill anyway. It wasn't that much."

Charlie chuckles. "Thought you'd have put up a fight. So- Seattle. Where are we going today?"

Sam directs Charlie to the Pike Place Market, where they wander around for a hour and grab a quick lunch. Sam regales Charlie with the story of his life without much prompting, having started opening up more at group and with Claire and the few others still in his life. Charlie seems amused by his youthful adventures, and finds a lot of common ground on the more recent events of his life. His partner, as it turns out, is a recovering addict like Sam, and while Charlie seems not to have any vices of that sort, he's understanding of Sam's struggles. They share a divorce in common, as well as a (more or less) adoptive teenage girl under their care. Sam imagines Rachel and Claire would get along famously, and says as much.

"Maybe I'll bring Ted and Rachel up here sometime," says Charlie, and Sam looks up, surprised.

"You want to come back?" he asks.

Charlie's lips quirk. "Of course. It's nice here. And I'm in good company."

Sam grimaces. "I think I've tricked you, Charlie," he says, "I'm an old bridge troll, there's far better company than me in Seattle."

"Maybe," says Charlie, "But I like you just fine. Why'd you think I asked you out today?"

Sam pauses. "Charlie- is this a _date?_"

Charlie smiles serenely. "Is it?"

After their meal, Charlie points out the Museum of Pop Culture, and Sam gets to flex his critic muscles over the artists featured there. Sam learns that Charlie has a fixation on Zen tapes, and that his partner has very good taste in modern rock music.

In quieter parts of the museum they stand closer together, knuckles and fingers brushing on occasion. Sam is woefully out of touch with dating, but Charlie seems to be just as well, and they both glance and look away, not sure where their boundaries are yet. When they leave the museum, the sun has begun to set. Charlie drives Sam back to the apartment, and they idle in the car for a moment, neither wanting to part ways.

"I'd offer a nightcap," says Sam, "But I don't have any alcohol. The best I can do is a virgin Shirley Temple."

Charlie chuckles. "I think I'd like that, actually," he says, and Sam directs him to the parking lot in the back. Charlie follows quietly as they go up the stairs, and looks around curiously when they're inside.

"Cozy," he comments, and Sam manages a half-smile, hanging his coat up.

"Make yourself at home," Sam says, "I'll get you a drink."

Charlie nods and goes to the couch, sitting. Sam makes their drinks, orange juice and Sprite with grenadine, and then joins Charlie, handing him one of the glasses. Charlie takes a sip, testing.

"Fruity," he comments, looking into the drink. "I like it."

Sam smiles, taking a sip of his own. There's a flush on his cheeks and he can feel his heart beating like crazy in his chest, and it's embarrassing how young and uncoordinated he feels around Charlie. The awkward silence drags on for too long and he gulps, setting his glass down and looking at Charlie.

Charlie smiles warmly, puts his own drink aside, and kisses Sam.

He's gentle and sweet, but Sam is hungry for him and makes it dirty, parting his lips and letting Charlie in. He can taste the orange juice and grenadine on Charlie's tongue and moans softly. They break apart for air and Charlie's flushed now too, his pale skin vibrant with color.

Sam reaches for Charlie's shirt, plucking the buttons open eagerly, exposing a broad chest dusted with soft ginger curls- and then his muscled stomach, littered with fading scars. Sam slows to a stop, reaching out cautiously to trace the marks with his fingertips. Charlie lets out a shuddering breath and gently pulls Sam's hand away.

"Sorry," says Sam, and Charlie shakes his head.

"They don't hurt anymore," he says, and that's the last they speak of it. Sam leans up to kiss Charlie again, shy at first but growing more bold as the younger man responds in turn, his strong hands grasping Sam's hips, bringing him closer. Sam thinks distantly that there's not much difference in kissing a man, that Charlie's lips are a little thinner, more chapped, but still warm and soft and inviting. The body beneath him is certainly different- Charlie is thick and hard and lean where Memphis had been small, soft, and curved. But different is good, he decides.

Soon enough Charlie's reaching for Sam's flannel and cotton undershirt, peeling them off hungrily, and he seems enamoured with the pouch of fat on Sam's belly, the way his figure is soft in contrast to Charlie's hard muscle. Charlie rubs at Sam's stomach, bends forward to kiss the curve of it, and Sam can't help the shudder that ripples through him. It'd been so long since he'd been touched like this; all at once he's desperate to fill every crevice of himself with Charlie, to bring the man as close as is humanly possible.

"Charlie," he groans, "touch me."

* * *

When Sam wakes up two hours later, the bed is vacant of Charlie. He feels the sheets, finding them still faintly warm, and frowns. He stretches widely, yawning, and pulls on a t-shirt and sweatpants before venturing out of the bedroom. There's a pleasant smell in the air. He hears Claire talking, and then Charlie, and finds them working together in the kitchen. Charlie seems to be helping Claire make something, and she's smiling and just about as happy as Sam has ever seen her. His heart squeezes a little at the sight and he coughs, announcing his presence.

"Hey, looks like sleeping beauty's finally woken up," Claire teases, grinning.

Charlie smiles. "Hi," he says to Sam. "There's a pot roast cooking, and we're making dessert now." He watches Sam shuffle in, smiling indulgently. Claire looks between the two of them, mischief in her eyes. She seems to have reigned it in around Charlie, though, because she doesn't say anything.

"Smells good," Sam comments, peeking around Charlie. "What's the dessert?"

"It's a banana bread bottom cheesecake," says Charlie. "Claire found the recipe on her phone."

"There's this Facebook page that does recipe videos," she says. "It's pretty cool."

"It's like living in the future," says Charlie.

"Yeah, I don't get on the web much," Sam chuckles.

"You're all so _old_," Claire whines. "Even my dad used Facebook. And he was forty-one."

"Hey," Charlie defends, "I'm only forty-six. Sam is the old one here." He turns to grin at Sam, his lips curled up impishly.

Sam grunts, rubbing his eyes. "At least I've already had my mid-life crisis," he grumbles. "It's all uphill from there." Claire meets his eyes then, somber at the non-mention of their shared experience. He shakes himself, not wanting to dwell on it, and touches Charlie's hand. "I'm gonna shower."

"Don't slip and fall, old man," Claire ribs, smirking.

"Fuck you," Sam retorts lightly. He chances at a kiss on Charlie's cheek despite their audience, then turns and quits the room, a giddy flush creeping up his collar.

* * *

A few days later, Claire comes home with another girl. She's round-faced and has short, wavy black hair, and she greets both Charlie and Sam politely when Claire introduces them. ("My asshole roommate Sam, and his nice boyfriend Charlie," she says.)

"I'm Anna," the new girl says to them both. "I work with Claire."

Sam remembers that Claire had an affair with her female high school teacher, and smiles knowingly. Claire sticks her tongue out at him and takes Anna's hand, guiding her to her room. The door closes conspicuously and Sam looks on, thoughtful.

"To be young and in love," Charlie comments from his spot at the table, picking at an orange ineffectually.

"Use a knife," Sam says, and picks up his book again.

* * *

By the end of the second week of his stay, Charlie has basically moved in. Sam couldn't abide the thought of him paying for a hotel room all this time, even if the man is filthy rich, and he'd come to like the sex very much, thank you.

They don't talk about the inevitable- Charlie will have to go back to LA eventually, certainly by the end of the month- but it weighs heavy on both of their minds. Sam won't ask Charlie to change for him. But he doesn't feel ready to leave Seattle, either- even if all he has left here is Claire and the group and the ghosts of Ben and Memphis and Allison. He doesn't know what Charlie wants (_a peaceful soul_, is all the man had said to him), and he's learned not to try to guess what people are thinking or wanting, not to have expectations, because he's usually wrong.

That was something Ben had made him realize- he'd always been so wrapped up in his own head that he'd ceased to truly _know_ anyone in his life. Ben wasn't who he thought he was, not really, and neither was Memphis, Claire, or Allison, because the expectations he had were not based in reality but rather what he _wanted _them to be. He knows he wants Charlie to be his companion, a solid grounding force in his life, but he doesn't know that Charlie wants this too.

He just doesn't know how to ask that sort of question.

He's afraid to know, if he's being honest, because Charlie feels like the best thing that's happened to him in all of his life. He rolls over to look at the man now, sleeping peacefully in his bed. Charlie always looks so content and peaceful, especially when he's outside, bathed in sunlight, and Sam finds his own mood lifts in response to the detective's. He wills himself to feed off of that energy now, to calm the anxiety curdling his stomach. He closes his eyes and breathes slowly, bringing to mind some of Charlie's meditation techniques.

When he opens his eyes again it's to see Charlie looking back at him sleepily.

"Good morning," Charlie murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep.

Sam offers Charlie a kiss in response, cupping the man's cheek as it turns passionate. Charlie seems to understand his mood and responds eagerly, sucking Sam's tongue and moving to straddle his hips. It's quick and dirty and passionate, and Sam feels bereft when it's over, Charlie collapsed beside him, catching his breath.

"I don't want you to go," Sam says to the ceiling, and Charlie stills.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says.

Sam shakes his head. "Not now. Later." He looks over at Charlie now, meeting his eyes. "You'll have to go back to work soon."

Charlie nods. "I will," he says. "And Ted and Rachel are waiting."

Sam frowns, reaching for Charlie's hands. Their fingers twine together, palms fitting neatly. He thinks about California, wonders if there's a life for him there. He'd chased love before and wound up heartbroken. He's not sure if he's ready to put his heart on the line like that again.

"I have a big house," Charlie says softly. "A lot of empty rooms."

Sam sighs, kissing Charlie's knuckles. "I have to think about it."

"Take your time," says Charlie. He smiles, pressing a kiss to Sam's lips. "I'll make breakfast," he says. "What would you like?"

"Pancakes," says Sam. "I want pancakes."

"Pancakes it is," says Charlie, and he gets up, pulling on a t-shirt and sweatpants and leaving the room. He spoils Sam, truly, and Sam knows he'll miss that dearly. He tries to imagine Charlie's house, waking up in the morning to California sunlight, silk sheets, Charlie there beside him. His heart aches with want. But he has responsibilities here - to the support group, to Claire, who isn't anywhere close to ready to setting out on her own, in his opinion. But he won't assume she would want to leave with him- after all, she considers the group her second family, and she has Anna now.

"Damn," Sam groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm overthinking this shit."

He drags himself out of bed and gets dressed, trailing Charlie into the kitchen. Claire is up already, sprawled on the couch watching the news, and she catches Sam's gaze with a smirk. Anna is curled up in the armchair next to her, looking sleepy, her fingers intertwined with Claire's. Sam smiles, amused - seems everyone in their apartment is at least a little bit gay now. What Ben would say, he wonders.

After they've all eaten and the dishes have been cleared up, Charlie's phone rings. It'd been silent all this time- and Sam's stomach drops. It could only be one thing, after all. Charlie smiles and squeezes Sam's hand before he picks up, leaving the room. Claire's watching Sam now, her gaze intense.

"He has to go back to work," says Sam, picking at his nails. "In LA."

"You're not gonna go with him?"

Sam looks up at her, surprised. "I have responsibilities here. You know that."

Claire snorts, waving her hand. "The group will be fine without you. You're fifty years old, man, don't let your first chance at real happiness slip away. It might be your last."

Sam frowns. "What about you? I can't just leave you here, you can't afford rent on your own."

"Anna wants me to move in with her," Claire says. "We've been together for three months, Loudermilk, it's fine," she adds at his skeptical look. "Or we could both tag along with you guys- Charlie said he has like, twenty empty rooms. Seriously, how much money does he make?"

Sam smiles. "Big settlement. He lost twelve years of his life, he's earned it."

"I think you should go for it," Claire says, sincere. "You're happy when you're with him- I can see it. You can't just let that go."

Sam chews his lip, thoughtful. He knows Claire is right, at least on some level- she is able to take care of herself, with support, and Charlie would be willing to give them both a room if it didn't work out for them. And Charlie- god, when Sam's with him he's the happiest he's ever been. It'd be fucking idiotic to let that go. Father Mike would understand- this isn't just chasing a ghost, this is something real. And Sam has a few people in mind to take his place already- after the New Orleans fiasco he'd put some thought into potential successors. He'd always known on some level that he'd leave Seattle someday. It was only nostalgia keeping him here, anymore.

Claire pats his hand. "Just tell him," she says. "It'll work out somehow. These things always do."

Sam smiles. "I could argue otherwise," he teases. "But thanks."

Claire smiles, standing up. "I'm gonna take Anna home. You talk to Charlie, okay? Don't falter on this."

"I will," Sam promises. "Be safe."

Claire smiles again. She turns to go, collecting Anna and her things. Both girls wave goodbye, the door closing behind them with a quiet click. Sam looks out the window as he sits at the table, waiting for Charlie to return. The sun is bright, warm on his face and chest, and it feels like hope.

It feels like falling in love.


End file.
